


A Party for Hosting and a Pig for Toasting

by SweetForbiddenLove



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 17:40:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9000343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetForbiddenLove/pseuds/SweetForbiddenLove
Summary: The Murder Family was supposed to have a quiet Christmas out in the countryside, but when Hannibal gets an idea to throw a party back in Baltimore, Will wonders what the catch is.A gift for tashatheterrifying!





	

On a brisk winter’s morning, Will Graham stepped out onto the porch of his small cabin home, mug in hand as he kept an eye on his dogs. After a few sips of black coffee, he whistled and shuffled the dogs into the kitchen. Winston stopped in the threshold of the door and looked up at him. Will bent down and pet his companion before ushering him inside and shutting the door. 

Will stepped to the edge of the porch and leaned against the railing, admiring the snow capped mountains in the distance. He never saw himself living in the Italian countryside, in fact he never imagined his life would turn out the way it had, but in that moment he had no complaints. He watched the cars drive along the narrow dirt road that separated his home from the rest of the town. Will’s ears perked up as he heard the kitchen door click shut, and he turned around to see Abigail clutching her robe tightly to combat the frigid air.

“You’re up early,” he said, smiling at her.

“Buster came and jumped on me,” she didn’t move toward him, but instead stepped backward to the doorframe, “and I will talk to you more when you’re inside. Aren’t you cold?”

He turned around to answer her but didn’t get the chance - she’d already disappeared back into the warmth of the house. The cold didn’t affect him as much as he thought it would. It only hit him that he had been out there for awhile when he took a sip of coffee and realized it was cold. Shaking his head, he shuffled back into the house and found his surrogate daughter sitting at the table. 

“To answer your question,” Will said, “Yes, I was cold.”

Abigail looked up from the cup of coffee she was nursing and smiled, “I can see it in your face.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, your nose and cheeks are pretty red.”

Will stood in front of the microwave and dragged a hand across his face, trying to speed up the blood flow. He punched a few numbers on the pad and waited for his coffee to heat up once more. Rubbing his hands together, he urged his blood to warm him up as well. 

“Why do you stay outside for so long?”

Will quirked an eyebrow and removed his coffee from the microwave a second before it started beeping, “I don’t know. I get lost in my thoughts while I look at the landscape. You said Buster jumped on you this morning?”

“Yeah, I’m not sure how he got past the gate. Have you seen Hannibal? I couldn’t find him.”

“He’s probably in his office. I’ll go check.”

Will took his mug in both hands and walked down the hallway to the constantly closed office door. He knocked twice and heard a faint acknowledgement. Opening the door, he spied Hannibal sitting at his desk, his face illuminated by his open laptop. The other man looked at Will and smirked. Will knew that look immediately and closed the door behind him.

“What are you thinking?”

“I know we agreed to have a low profile Christmas this year,” Hannibal began, “but something has come up. Would you be alright with returning to Baltimore?”

Will studied Hannibal closely, his eyes scanning every portion of the Danish man’s bold features, “What’s happened?”

“I’ve noticed that the President-Elect is a very rude man and-”

Will’s eyes widened as the realization of what Hannibal was saying washed over him, “Hannibal, you can’t be serious.”

“I’m afraid I am, Will.”

He fell silent and rubbed a hand across his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. His breathing was calm, but still he inhaled through his nose and exhaled through his mouth in order to organize his thoughts.

“Did you purposely wait until he was one of the most watched men in America before deciding you’d like to hunt him? Or did you just now figure out how to execute it?” Will’s face was always very expressive, and at this particular moment it expressed disbelief and a hint of outrage. “This is an insane plan, even for you. Especially for you!”

Hannibal sauntered to the window and opened the curtain a bit, not yet responding to Will. He peered into the landscape as his partner continued his outburst.

“If you wanted to take out world leaders, why not start with Putin?”

“I admire Putin’s power,” Hannibal said matter-of-factly, “Donald Trump has no power, only followers.”

“He hasn’t done anything to you personally,” Will was looking at the back of Hannibal’s head incredulously, “Why do you want this?”

Hannibal glanced over his shoulder, and Will walked forward cautiously. “The man leaves a bad taste in my mouth, isn’t that reason enough?”

“I suppose,” Will paused, “if you wanted to be reckless.”

Hannibal continued studying the countryside, tight-lipped.

“Why do you want to be reckless?” Will’s voice grumbled like tires over rocks. He set his mug down on the desk and closed the distance between them. Wrapping his arms around Hannibal, he whispered, “Why be so impulsive over one man?”

“You sound as though I’d be doing this on a whim,” the other man replied, “when you even asked how long I’d been planning this. Now is the time to do it and I didn’t tell you so I could ask permission.”

Will sighed,  leaning his forehead into Hannibal’s back, knowing a losing battle when he saw it, “Well, Abigail and I can’t join you for this one. It’ll be too risky.”

Hannibal turned around in Will’s embrace and replied, “I know.”

They made full eye contact for the first time throughout their conversation, and Will saw the determination in his partner’s eyes. If he had even an ounce of belief that he could talk him out of his plan before, those thoughts were dashed immediately.

“What do I need to do?”

***

Early morning sunlight streamed in through the drawn curtains in Will’s dark bedroom. He tossed a bit in his sleep, turning over in a perpetual quest to catch up on sleep he should have gotten years ago. After a few moments he realized his fight was fruitless and begrudgingly sat up. He raked a hand over his face and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Sliding on his slippers, he grabbed his robe and made his way downstairs.

In the kitchen, he began the process of making his coffee. He set up the coffee pot and began brewing the dark liquid. He refused to ever use Hannibal’s french press based on principle - while Hannibal drank for taste, Will drank out of necessity. Will envied that Hannibal was the type of person who could function after having only juice in the morning. Opening a cabinet in the kitchen, Will turned the tucked away TV to the news and poured his coffee. He sat at a stool and watched as news reports flashed across the screen. The President-Elect was missing.

***

Hannibal shook the snow from his coat as he entered the house. The Christmas dinner party he had arranged would be starting soon and he still needed to set up a few things.

“I’m back,” he called up the stairs, announcing his presence but not expecting a response.

“Hi!” Abigail beamed from the top of the stairs, donning a black, subtly sparkling dress with a maroon scarf and black heels. She had very little makeup on and tucked her hair behind her remaining ear, “Do you need any help?”

“I think it’s time I teach you how to properly set a table,” Hannibal smiled, “Come downstairs when you’re ready.”

He walked away to get the plates, glasses, and silverware assembled. Abigail carefully descended down the stairs, as heels were not something she had a lot of experience with. She went to the dining room and waited for Hannibal to return.

***

The doorbell had been continuously ringing in intermittent spurts as the party guests arrived. This particular time, Margot and Alana Verger-Bloom waited outside for someone to usher them in from the cold. A figure appeared behind the frosted glass door before the knob turned and they were greeted by the sight of Abigail.

“Come on in,” she smiled, opening the door wider for them.

Margot helped Alana out of her jacket, and Alana returned the favor for her wife. Abigail disappeared with their jackets, storing them away in the coat closet. She walked back down the hallway to meet them.

“It smells delicious in here,” remarked Alana, “Do you know what we’re eating, Abigail?”

“No, but it does smell great, doesn’t it?”

Alana and Margot followed Abigail to the living room, where Frederick Chilton sat idly nursing a beer. 

Margot stopped Abigail before she walked away, “Where can I get a glass of wine?”

“Oh,” Abigail smiled, “we set up a table over there with a few different options.”

Abigail pointed to a corner of the room where there were wine glasses and various wine bottles, along with some home-brewed beers. She then left again to go wait by the door, but Will appeared and stopped her in her tracks.

“That should be everyone,” he told her quietly, before announcing to the rest of the room that dinner would be served shortly.

“Will,” Alana smiled, and walked over to hug him. They embraced and she pulled away, “this place looks gorgeous. You’ve done such a beautiful job.”

“Ah,” he smiled sheepishly, “we both know I didn’t really do this.”

Alana laughed, “Yes, you’re right.”

Will’s watch chimed with the time, 6 p.m., and he instructed everyone to go take a seat at their placard. Each person shuffled into the dining room and found their respective seats. Hannibal would be at the head of the table, with Will on his right and Abigail on his left. Next to Will was Alana, and next to Abigail sat Margot. Frederick, with an empty chair across from him, was seated next to Margot.

“This place seems a little empty. Hannibal usually throws extravagant parties, does he not?” Frederick said, sitting down.

“Some couldn’t make it because of prior family engagements. Something I assume you know nothing about, Frederick,” Hannibal said from the entryway leading to the kitchen.

“Well, I-” Frederick stammered, “I can’t say you’re wrong.”

The “side dishes” were already laid out on the table, but they were so detailed and exquisite they could have been full meals by themselves. In the middle of the table sat a large pork roast, still resting and not yet cut into. Hannibal took his place at the head of the table and looked around at the small assemblage he had gathered there tonight. It was true that this was not the most elegant dinner party he’d thrown, but it felt like one of his most important nonetheless.

“Tonight,” Hannibal raised his glass, filled halfway with a burgundy wine, “We eat a Christmas pig. I do hope you enjoy, as this was one of the most stubborn pigs my butcher has wrangled. Merry Christmas, everyone.”

***


End file.
